Oscar Dalrymple departed. But he did not proceed to the hotel where he had engaged a bed. On the contrary, he took up his station in a shady nook, whence he could see the door he had just come out of; and there he waited patiently. Presently he saw Robert Dalrymple emerge from it, and betake himself away.
A little while yet waited Oscar, and then he retraced his steps to the house, and rang the bell. Reuben answered it. A faithful servant, getting in years now. Robert was the third of the family he had served.
"Reuben, I may have left my note-case in the dining-room," said Oscar. "Can I look for it?"
The note-case was looked for without success: and Oscar discovered that it was safe in his pocket. Perhaps he knew that all the while.
"I am sorry to have troubled you for nothing, Reuben. Did I call you out of your bed?"
"No, no," answered the man, shaking his head. "There's rarely much bed for me before daylight, Mr. Oscar."
"How's that?"
"I suppose young men must be young men, sir. I should not mind that; but Mr. Robert is getting into just the habits of his uncle."
Oscar looked up quickly, "His uncle—Claude Dalrymple?" he asked in a low tone.
"Ay, he is, sir: and my heart is almost mad at times with fear. If my dear late master was alive, I should just go down to the Grange and tell him everything."